Goat Ragù: Mountain Heritage in a Sauce

Scilatelle with goat ragù is Calabria on a plate — rugged, hearty, and just a little wild. It’s the kind of dish that smells like the mountains before you even take a bite. Goat was the meat of choice up in the hills (cheap, tough, and everywhere), and goat cheese was practically currency. So when families wanted a sauce that was both practical and a little celebratory, a slow-cooked goat ragù was the answer.

Picture it: a giant pot bubbling away for hours, filling courtyards and alleyways with an aroma so rich it made the neighbors drift over “just to say hello” (and maybe stick a chunk of bread in the pot when no one was looking). These weren’t quick weekday meals — this was festival food. Weddings, saints’ days, grape harvests. Any excuse to turn meat, tomatoes, and patience into something worth gathering around.

And gather they did. Adults clinked glasses of homemade wine while trading gossip and stories. Kids circled the pot like little wolves, sneaking tastes when their nonnas weren’t watching. Recipes were never written down — they were absorbed, tasted, argued about. Every village swore theirs was the “authentic” version. Some tossed in wild fennel for a sharp, anise kick. Others insisted a splash of local red wine was non-negotiable. A sauce wasn’t just a sauce, it was a claim to local pride.

And then there’s the pasta itself — scilatelle, with its long twisted shape, practically designed to scoop up ragù like a shovel. Forget dainty bites: this was food made to cling, to coat, to demand you mop up every last drop. That’s why even today, scilatelle with goat ragù isn’t just a recipe — it’s a piece of living history, a dish that tells the story of mountains, neighbors, and long afternoons where time slowed down in the name of good sauce.

Fun Facts:

• A celebration dish, not an everyday one: Goat ragù wasn’t something you whipped up on a random Tuesday. The long, slow cooking and the precious meat meant it was often saved for festivals, weddings, or harvest feasts. When the pot came out, everyone knew something special was happening.
• A sauce with a postcode: Every Calabrian village had its own way of making goat ragù. One town might throw in wild fennel from the hills, another would swear by a splash of their local red wine. The result? A sauce that was less a standard recipe and more a culinary fingerprint of where you came from.
• Twists built for clinging: Scilatelle pasta wasn’t just pretty — its long, spiraled shape was engineered for the job. Those ridges and curls act like little sauce magnets, grabbing onto every bit of ragù. The goat may have done the heavy lifting, but the pasta made sure not a drop went to waste.

Scilatelle with Goat Ragù (Rich & Clinging)

Serves: 4
Ingredients:

• 400g scilatelle pasta (altenative Fusilli Lunghi, bucatini or even fusilli corti if you can't find them)
• 300g goat meat, diced
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 carrots, diced
• 2 celery stalks, diced
• 400g canned tomatoes
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 tsp dried oregano
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Instructions:

• Heat olive oil in a heavy pan. Add onion, garlic, carrot, and celery, sauté until soft.
• Add goat meat, brown on all sides.
• Stir in tomatoes, oregano, salt, and pepper. Simmer gently for 1–1.5 hours until meat is tender and sauce thickened.
• Cook scilatelle pasta in salted water until al dente. Drain.
• Toss pasta with the ragù, ensuring each piece is coated. Serve hot.

Scilatelle with Lentil Ragù

A Mountain Tradition, Reimagined Plant-Based

This version keeps the rustic, slow-simmered character of the Calabrian classic, but uses lentils for depth and texture. The ragù is still rich, fragrant, and perfect for catching on every ridge of scilatelle pasta.

Serves: 4

Ingredients

• 400g scilatelle pasta (alternatives: Casereccie, strozzapreti, fusilli lunghi, bucatini, fusilli corti)
• 200g dried brown or green lentils (soaked 30 min, optional)
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 carrots, diced
• 2 celery stalks, diced
• 400g canned tomatoes (or passata)
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 125ml red wine (optional but traditional)
• 1 tsp dried oregano
• 1 bay leaf
• Pinch of chili flakes (optional, Calabrian touch 🌶️)
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Fresh parsley, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

• Base Aromatics
  Heat olive oil in a heavy pan. Add onion, garlic, carrot, and celery. Sauté over medium heat until softened and lightly golden.
• Build Flavor
  Stir in the lentils, oregano, bay leaf, and chili flakes (if using). Toast for a minute so the lentils absorb the aromatics.
• Deglaze & Simmer
  Pour in the red wine (if using) and let it bubble until almost evaporated. Add canned tomatoes, salt, and pepper. Add about 500ml water (or vegetable broth) to cover the lentils.
• Slow Cook
  Simmer gently for 40–50 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender and sauce is thick and hearty. Add more water if needed during cooking.
• Cook the Pasta
  Boil scilatelle in salted water until al dente. Drain, reserving a little pasta water.
• Marry Sauce & Pasta
  Toss pasta with the lentil ragù, adding a splash of pasta water if needed to coat every strand.
• Serve
  Garnish with chopped parsley (and, for non-vegans, a sprinkle of pecorino can be traditional).

Fun Calabrian Twists You Could Add

• Wild fennel fronds if you can find them → adds that rustic mountain note.
• A spoon of Calabrian chili paste (’nduja’s fiery cousin, but plant-based versions exist).
• Mushrooms (finely chopped) alongside lentils for extra depth.